Sunday, November 24, 2013

I send George one or two links a week to articles that, in my humble opinion, offer sound parenting advice. In return, I receive links from him to things like the trailer from the 1974 Science Fiction movie, Zardoz, starring Sean Connery. So it seemed novel to me to get an email from him with the subject, “Important article on parenting”.

“Hmm, The Onion”, I thought, “Not exactly La Leche League or The American Academy of Pediatrics, but I’m game. It’s better than YouTube videos of laughing puppies or burping children."

I read on in horror....

The California Parenting Institute did a study and found that, regardless of parenting style employed, it’s a child’s fate to become a maladjusted adult.

Wow, that big claim could pretty much rock my world. I needed details. Like the informed parent that I pride myself on being, I looked for the study at the California Parenting Institutes’ website.

Evidently, I was not alone. The California Parents Institute was inundated with calls from nervous parents like me. These queries were much to the organization’s dismay; however, since the article was....

A HOAX.

“Oh, right, The Onion. Silly me,” I thought. “What a relief. I can go back to being puppet master of Claire’s destiny!”

But then I started thinking some more..

“Was George trying to tell me something? Maybe, he thinks I need to lighten up a bit. Perhaps, I should just let Claire be...He’s pretty good at that.”

So I haven’t sent him a link in awhile…a day or two, maybe. And for good measure, I checked out the link to Zardoz. You should too; it's pretty hilarious.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Saturday, November 16, 2013

You know how kids get so excited to show their stuff to people who come to visit? It’s like they're under the impression that their own tiny hands actually stitched the teddy bear together, or that they slowly chiseled their toy duck from a block of wood.

Indeed, the other day, Claire fancied herself the architect of her favorite playground, and needed to give her Uncle Tom a tour of her brainchild.

Uncle Tom happily agreed to check out her swings and slide. That was fine, except Claire looked more suited for an afternoon nap than for the playground. She was still wearing pajamas, and she had bed head: her hair was smushed to the back of her head in endless tangles.

I usually don't care how Claire looks. There are only so many toddler battles I can face in a day. Why fight her when she wants to keep on her bow pajamas? (I did let her go out with underwear on her head one time, though. The funny part was that no one even batted an eye. Remember: we live in NYC; people are thankfully non-plussed.)

But Uncle Tom and Claire decided a trip to the park was imminent. And Tom is a photographer. When he grabbed his camera before heading out the door, I looked at Claire and said to him, “You’re not going to put these on Facebook are you? I don’t want anyone knowing I let Claire go out this way.”

Ah, yes, my child as brilliant extension of me. Those time when I see my daughter’s looks or her behavior or her intelligence as a reflection on me.

It got me thinking about the boundary that begins developing between parent and child the second they leave the womb. And, consequently, how we grow a child's sense of self.

I read somewhere that the relationship between a parent and child is unique, because it’s the only one in which the purpose is to love and nurture enough to let the person go.

A good place to start the slow, sometimes painful, process of separation is letting my daughter choose what she wears.

But, sometimes, I'm more concerned about myself than Claire's sense of self. Like the days when we are going to go visit Grammy or taking a picture with Santa. Those days, I am full of bribes and threats to have my sweet innocent reflect her beauty back on me.

Other days, I let her be. She did go to the playground in all of her bedheaded, pajamaed glory. And I have a brilliant Uncle Tom photo to prove it. I barely even notice the pajamas in it. If I do say so myself, I couldn't ask for a better reflection on me...

Photo Source: Tom Bruso

There's more...Jane Marsh of Nothing by the Book got me thinking about this topic. She has a definite opinion about hair brushing that I can safely say would go in the "Celebrating Bed Head" category. What's your opinion about how a child should look?

*****

Please join our link-up...

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

The saying goes, "You need a license to go fishing, but any old fool can have a child." I have to say I’m kinda glad there isn’t a motherhood test. I'm not so sure I would have passed it, before having Claire. There's just so much you can't anticipate about being a mom.

Honestly, I don't know how they'd fit all of the requisite skills in the test manual anyway. And I would love to see the diagrams in the booklet for some of the following areas of mothering mastery. (And, wow, this list only takes us partially through the toddler years! My head just might explode thinking about the terrain ahead of me.)

How to:

1) Lodge your child into a stroller, high chair or carseat, while his or her legs are locked shut in protest.

2) Blindly retrieve an errant toy in the backseat of the car for your screaming child with one hand, while steering with the other.

3) Change a diaper while your child is standing up, in the car, at a restaurant or has no intention of cooperating.

4) Balance your child on one knee, while pushing the drinking fountain button or turning on the faucets in a public restroom.

5) Survive on the calories leftover on your child's plate, which are shoveled into your mouth in the corner of the kitchen with a baby spoon, because you don't want to waste a perfectly good piece of clean cutlery or all the regular-sized ones are already dirty.

6) Match your child’s enthusiasm for Curious George or the Wheels on the Bus after the thousandth rendition of the day.

7) Deal peacefully with the mother who thought it was funny when her child whacked your child in the mouth with a toy truck.

8) Chase and catch your kid and grab the breakable glass in hand, while masterfully dodging the plethora of tiny plastic pieces on the floor, which could do bodily harm if lodged in a foot.

9) Do crisis management with exploding poop. My discretion tells me to leave it at that without providing any further details.

10) Manage to cut up vegetables for a mirepoix without slicing your finger open, while your child successfully pulls down your yoga pants.

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Illustrations courtesy of the brilliant and lovely...Kristi Campbell of Finding Ninee. Hilarious pictures are only half her talent. Her words are equally smart and funny. If you don't believe me, go check out this post. You'll LOL when you see the picture that goes with the gem: "Note to future self: ALWAYS check out your own ass in the bathroom mirror. It might be virtually naked."(Bet you're already LOL'ing. Kristi has a way like that. Now, if you have any of your own feats of mothering to share, please do so below. Then, head over to Finding Ninee. You'll be glad you did!)

Saturday, November 9, 2013

I know I’m in for trouble when I hear the words “Can’t you *just*…” spilling out of someone’s mouth. A piece of unsolicited parenting advice is sure to follow.

Often, the priceless nugget of wisdom that is about to be shared is offered by a single person or childless couple. Often, they are clueless about the intricacies of raising a child, and/or like to hear themselves speak.

"Can’t you *just* bring your daughter to the party at 9PM?"“Can’t you *just* put her in the highchair at the five-star restaurant?”

The *just* part is what gets me. *Just* is filled with some serious negative subtext. Just implies that a) there is a simple solution to your parenting problem and that you are either b) too stupid or pigheaded to figure it out on your own or c) you enjoy making parenthood more complicated than it needs to be or d) you are taking parenting way too seriously for their tastes.

I’ve come to expect “Can’t you *just*…” from the single or childless group, though. I even have some sympathy for their position. After all, I was single and childless and clueless and judgy too. I bear little resemblance to my pre-baby self; how could I possibly expect them to understand post-baby me?

But there are other groups of people who engage in the “Can’t you *just*…” shtick that still catch me off guard. Older folk who act like they have selective amnesia about raising children.

“Can’t she *just* skip the nap?”"Can’t she *just* sleep in this twin bed as high as Mount Everest without railings?”

I have some sympathy for the older folk group too. It's kind of sweet that they only remember their children's youth with rose-colored glasses. I hope to be blissfully forgetful myself someday.

The final group that is prone to this lovely, little three-word conversation-starter still leaves me speechless. It’s the holier-than-thou parents, who just happen to not have the same problem as you. I want to say to them, “Et, tu, Brute? I thought we were supposed to be in this together!"

There is one consolation about the holier-than-thou parents group, though. I know that it won’t be long before they have their own “Can’t you *just*…” problem/s too. Karma is a bitch...or I am one. Bitchiness aside, I can always hold out hope that, along with their suffering, will come sympathy for the plights of their comrades in parenting.

For my part, if and when the holier-than-thou parents come to me with their problem/s, I will never, ever say "Can't you *just*..." I will listen to them and validate them and offer my support. I will ask, "Is there anything that I can do for you?"

I will do these things, because they are what I would like people to do for me when I'm facing the inevitable parenting impasse...instead of hearing, "Can't you *just*..."

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The sewing box is misleading in its compact squareness. The knobs on the top, like those on a picnic basket, lift outward to reveal three, winged tiers when opened. Small compartments within are meant to serve as a boundary between buttons of various shapes and sizes, shiny pins and spools of thread. Yet the tools of sewing have spilled into each other, the colorful disarray betraying a human touch.

Claire looks in and asks for a safety pin. I wager that the combination of nascent two-year-old fine-motor skills and my close eye will remove any threat of injury. I watch her rub it between her fingers, while I unwind brown thread and ready myself to stitch the back of the teddy bear that’s come loose at the seams from rough, toddler hands.

Claire watches me too. She wants the thread I've just cut. I give it to her, and start unraveling the spool again for the real work. I stop and look up at my daughter, though, the thread wrapped around my hand now. She licks the end of her piece and pretends to thread the safety pin.

I’m surprised.

Claire's so accurately mimicking me. I hadn’t realized that she’d been studying me so closely the few times I’ve sewn on a button or hand-stitched a hem.

But then I remember.

When I was a little kid, I thought everything my mother did was magical and mysterious. Really, my mother was magical and mysterious. In her hand, anything was capable of transformation -- just like the sewing box.

My mom could kiss my skinned knee and make it better. She could take the sphere of a smooth egg, and expose a runny inside with one swift tap of the wrist on a hard surface. She could untwist her hair from a roller to display a perfectly bouncing curl.

Friday, November 1, 2013

I don’t really know what All Saint’s Day is, other than it is the day after Halloween and, hence, today. But I can assure that what is going on in my house does not qualify as saintly behavior. All Saint’s Day, I’ve been stealing my daughter’s candy haul. I’m either lucky or unlucky that she is not yet two and a half and forgot about her bag of booty, which is now going straight to my booty.

It’s funny how many stories come out around Halloween that warn of the evils of candy for kids. Rarely, do you hear mention of adults like me, who have less willpower than their own children and resort to breaking one of the Ten Commandments to partake in its sinful lusciousness. I rationalize that it's better that I binge-eat all that sugar than my growing, developing and beautiful little girl...but rationalizing is just another sign of my sickness, really.

Recently, I read about parents who are creating an elaborate ritual to get rid of the bounty of trick or treating altogether. Kids leave their candy outside by the jack o'lantern on Halloween night, and the Great Pumpkin comes to pick it up and replaces it with a toy.

George and I thought about trying this strategy when Claire is a little older. I have to wonder, though...Do parents really have the willpower to throw the candy away after the switcheroo? I do not trust myself with chocolate temptation.

Just like it is now, I am positive that a secret stash of candy would be hidden in the back of a dark kitchen cabinet and consumed in private with the trail of wrappers carefully concealed.